It was long past midnight, that I once happened to be sitting alone in my chamber, expecting my husband’s return from a carousal at a neighbouring Baron’s; and I was endeavouring to prepare myself for the painful scenes, which seldom failed to follow such entertainments. Suddenly Gertrude entered the room with a terrified countenance, and informed me that having seen from her window which overlooked the garden some dark-looking figures, whose appearance was made still more terrific by the contrast of the newly-fallen snow, she had descended to examine what they really were; and that she had found it necessary to admit into my anti-chamber the persons, who had given her so causeless an alarm. —“Do not be terrified!” said she, “they are only poor afflicted spirits, who hope for relief from your hands.”— I was too well acquainted with the friendly anxiety of my faithful attendant to spare me pain, and prepare me for unpleasant news by the manner in which she related it, to be deceived by her assurance, that I had nothing to fear. I waited for the appearance of these strangers with a beating heart. What was my surprise at recognizing the excellent Abbot of Cloister-Curwald, the venerable Matthias, and several other of the most respectable monks, whose evident consternation already seemed to implore my assistance, before they yet had time to give their petition words. —“Oh! dear good lady,” exclaimed the Abbot, “we are undone! the dreaded storm has burst, and we must all be the prey of death, unless _you_ can find means of preserving us! This morning while officiating at the altar, we were seized in the name of our liege-lord, the Count of Carlsheim, and imprisoned in a subterraneous dungeon. Our appeal to the Bishop of Coira was treated with derision; and we collected from some suspicious remarks of our jailor, that our doom would be finally determined, long before our appeal could be made to a superior jurisdiction. Alas! we know but too well, what _can_ be done in convents! The fore-warnings of approaching death presented themselves on all sides; the noise of revelry resounding from the chambers above us increased our anxiety! What had we not to fear from the rage and malignity of these intoxicated monks!—Fortunately, one of my secret friends found means to gain admittance to our dungeon, and explain to us the real and pressing danger of our situation. It seems, that the enemies of order and of virtue are protected by the Count of Carlsheim; he was himself assisting at the dissolute entertainment; and probably at this moment we should no longer have been numbered among the living, had not the friend who brought us this intelligence, secretly assisted us to escape from the convent, and accompanied us in our flight. Now then our life is in your hands; save us, dear lady, either by softening your husband through your entreaties, or by pointing out to us some place of concealment. To you alone could we have recourse; had we sought any